


A Case of Destiny

by Brumeier



Series: Bite Sized Fic 2018 [53]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Detective Noir, First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 23:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15806703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: LJ Comment Fic for 100 Words on AUs prompt:MCU, Steve Rogers+Bucky Barnes, noir private eye AUIn which Bucky's newest case takes a strange turn.





	A Case of Destiny

Rain beat against the grimy window that looked out on an even dirtier city. It was one of those days where it seemed the rain would never end, saturating and bloating everything like week-old corpses. Times like these, Bucky didn’t mind business being slow because it meant staying indoors. The bottle of whisky he kept in his bottom desk drawer helped stave off the chill.

Bucky couldn’t afford to pay a dame to answer his phone or type up his reports, so he was laboriously pecking away at the typewriter when the hallway door – emblazoned with _J.B. Barnes, PI_ on the glass – opened up and a figure clad in a wet overcoat stepped inside the office. They were holding a folded, dripping umbrella patterned with a black swirl, and it wasn’t until they looked up that Bucky could see it was a man.

And what a man he was, his face thin and delicate, like some kind of museum sculpture. His skin was so pale it seemed to glow. But it was the crackling blue eyes that caught Bucky’s attention. This was no empty-headed client.

“Mr. Barnes, I presume?” The man had a surprisingly deep voice for someone with such a slight build.

Bucky forced himself to focus back on the typewriter. “You presume correctly. How do you spell legitimately?”

The man spelled it as he was taking off his overcoat and hanging it on the coat rack by the door.

“Thanks. Have a seat.”

“My name is Steve Rogers. I’d like to hire you.”

“One second.” Bucky finished the report and pulled the paper from the carriage. It was a little spotty in some areas – he needed a new ribbon – but it would do. He tucked it into the folder on his desk and pulled out the whisky. “Interest you in a shot?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Rogers didn’t look like the kind of guy who regularly drank whisky, but Bucky poured him the shot. The guy downed it like it was water.

“So what’s your sob story?” Bucky asked, sitting back in his chair.

“I think someone’s trying to kill me.”

“Why?”

“Why would someone try to kill me, or why do I think they are?”

Those eyes were shrewd and intelligent, almost hypnotic. But Bucky knew better than to get taken in by a pretty face. That was a road that led nowhere.

“Either.” He poured Rogers another shot of whisky.

“The answer to the first why is…I don’t know.”

Bucky was almost certain that was a lie.

“The answer to the second why is…I’ve had three near-misses in the last two days. That seems coincidental, don’t you think?” Rogers shifted in his chair and pulled something out of his pocket. “And there’s this.”

He pushed a folded piece of paper across the desk.

Bucky picked it up, unfolded it. It was a pencil sketch, as detailed as any Rockwell painting. He was looking at his own face.

“You didn’t ask about the who,” Roger said. “I think it’s you.”

*o*o*o*

Bucky never had an investigation go sideways so quickly, but then he’d never had to investigate himself. There was no way Rogers could be right, his path had never crossed Bucky’s, and yet all three attempts on Rogers’ life coincided with a lapse in Bucky’s memory, time he couldn’t account for.

And there was the sketch, which Rogers didn’t remember drawing.

“Do you believe in destiny?” Rogers asked. He’d shown up at Bucky’s rathole apartment, hair damp from the incessant rain.

“I believe in making choices,” Bucky replied. He was moving around the room, trying to keep space between himself and the other man. His instincts were screaming that there was danger ahead. “There’s no grand design to my life.”

He’d been fresh-faced and full of optimism once, before the war. The things he’d done, and had done to him, had left scars both physical and emotional. He was still plagued by nightmares. What was the grand design in that?

“I think there is.” Rogers was stalking him, slowly getting closer, and the room suddenly seemed claustrophobic. “I think it’s possible that two people are drawn together because the other person is a part of them. Their other half. And eventually the universe rights the wrongs, fixes the mistakes. Has you try to kill me so I’ll hire you, bringing us into each other’s orbits.”

“Sentimental claptrap.” Bucky was too old, had seen too much, to believe in fairy tales.

“Is it?”

Bucky’s heart was pounding in his ears. Rogers was right in front of him, those damned eyes pinning him in place.

“Only one way to find out,” Rogers said. His tone was taunting, and his mouth was so close, his lips begging to be kissed.

In his mind’s eye Bucky saw himself grabbing the bookend from the shelf and striking Rogers in the head. Saw Rogers fall, blood pooling around his head. Bucky could practically smell it, could feel the rush of adrenalin. He would make his choice and the universe be damned.

In reality, Rogers made the first move, kissing Bucky with unexpected heat and fervor. Bucky’s skin flushed hot, his blood practically boiling in his veins, and he yanked Rogers closer, his hands so tight on the other man’s shoulders they had to be leaving bruises.

“This isn’t a love story,” Bucky gasped.

“Sure it is,” Rogers replied. And kept on kissing him.

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** This is my first try at noir. I feel like the first part went along pretty normally but the second part took a weird turn. I did really like the idea of skinny, pre-serum Steve being the aggressor here.
> 
> Also, my Word document says 900 words, so I'm going with that. ::grins::


End file.
